Give The Devil His Due

by H G White

  I came home late enough from work not to run into either Tegan or Dave. I didn't want to go through the whole party debate again. I'm sure she didn't either. Dave, on the other hand, would probably go over it till he was blue in the face, if he thought he could make the party happen without me in attendance. It was better to keep a low profile. If she saw Dave as a squabbling child, I certainly didn't want her to view me as his adversarial counterpart. That night I feasted on sausage, egg and chips. The diet was going well!

  Chapter 5

  Friday 9.15 a.m. South Wales

  I'd already got most of my stuff together for going away the night before. There were only a few minor bits and pieces to do prior to leaving. I hoped to God that Peachy wasn't going to turn round and tell me the trip was off because I was really looking forward to it. The phone call came round about 9.30 a.m.

  ‘Will, it's me.’

  ‘Is it all systems go then Peach?’

  ‘It certainly is. I'll be done by 2.30 so anytime after that's fine. You can come before if you like, but you'll have to amuse yourself if you do, because I definitely won't be finished any earlier.’

  ‘No, 2.30's fine. I haven't even bought my ticket yet.’

  ‘Coach or train?’

  ‘Coach. There's a good deal on at the moment.’

  ‘Right, well once you've sorted the ticket out and you know what time it gets into Victoria, give me a bell and I'll make sure I'm there to meet you.’

  ‘No probs. Are you going to take me on a magical mystery tour then?’

  ‘You never know, you never know!’

  Peach hung up. I was now into full-on going-away-mode. I took the dog straight round to mum's house and headed immediately into town to get the coach ticket. A little while later I phoned Peachy with the news.

  ‘It gets in quarter to four Peach.’

  ‘Great. Travel light because we're on public transport.’

  ‘OK.’ I had no intention of taking everything but the kitchen sink, but if he wasn't picking me up by car, I'd take two small bags instead of one big one. We could share the load.

  ***

  I only just made the coach. One of my cab-driving buddies was late picking me up. I told him if I missed it he'd have to chase it to the next stop and get me on there. He drove like a lunatic and we arrived with about 2 minutes to spare.

  As I boarded the coach there was a little sign sitting below the rear view mirror. It said Express Coaches Welcome You – Your driver today is BARRY

  The ‘Barry’ bit was handwritten in black marker-pen on the wipeable plastic signboard. I could see just underneath it had said Eric, but that had been wiped out. I wondered what had happened to Eric. I hoped he hadn't been wiped out too.

  The coach pulled away at 2.15 prompt. It was packed. Friday was always a busy day for travel. People like me, going away for the weekend; students returning home, the elderly on excursions and so on. I found my seat and took it. The seat next to mine was already taken. The occupant must have been in her late seventies, and was knitting. This is going to be fun I thought. Three and a half hours of ‘During the war, things weren't like they are today ... etc.’

  Across the aisle from us was a mother-son combo, she of the daytime-TV-type and he of the whingeing-brat type. The mother's name was Natasha and the brat’s name, Alvin. I mean, who would call their child Alvin? (apart from ‘Tasha’ – obviously.)

  He was much more of a Darren or a Wayne. We hadn't gone a couple of miles and Alvin was already pushing my button. He wanted to sit by the window and wouldn't shut up about it. He had resorted to threatening Tasha with physical violence.

  ‘I want the window, I want the window. If I don't get it I’m gonna kick you.’

  Tasha gave in to him. He had to first get out of his seat and on to the aisle. Then she had to get up out of her seat and manoeuvre her elephantine bulk into the aisle for Alvin to be able to access the window seat. With indefatigable Barry at the wheel, determined to arrive on time, the coach, thanks to ‘iffy’ suspension bounced haphazardly along at over 70 mph. As I watched, it was apparent that a very unstable mass was at liberty.

  Tasha lost her balance. Tasha's rump was in my face. Alvin was now picking his nose, newly installed in his window seat. Tasha sat down.

  The knitter looked at me as if to say ‘You enjoyed that, didn't you!’.

  I looked back at her with an expression that replied You’re out of your mind old crone, isn't it time for your medication?

  We'd got another couple of miles down the road and Alvin's whining started up again. ‘I want the Nintendo, give me the Nintendo.’

  The old crone leaned over to me and whispered, ‘If he was mine I'd slap him silly!’

  I thought It's a bloody shame he's not yours. But then again if he was hers, he'd have been sat next to her and I'd have been next to Tasha. So perhaps it wasn't a shame. That said, it was difficult not to be next to Tasha wherever you were sat.

  Alvin continued to whinge, until Tasha finally gave in. The downside of this was that the Nintendo happened to be in the overhead locker. Once again the bulk moved. Bedlam ensued while Barry continued to bounce the coach along, oblivious. With no intention of slowing down, he had a schedule to keep, and boy, was he going to keep it!

  Tasha stumbled once more but managed to recover her stance just in time to save me from another arse-face collision. The knitter leaned over to me and whispered, ‘Never mind, better luck next time!’

  The Nintendo kept Alvin quiet for a little while. Tasha at least had had the foresight to invest in a set of headphones. The journey became a little easier to bear.

  The old crone had moved from knitting to Harold Robbins. ‘I read all his books you know. I was a bit of a man-eater in my time. If I was thirty years younger you'd be frightened of me.’

  I thought Never mind thirty years, you’re scaring me now! It turned out her name was Enid and she wasn't really that scary. We got talking and not once during the journey did she mention the war. She was on her way to meet her son, a prison officer in HMP Wandsworth. I said I could think of a young offender close-by that needed locking up.

  Alvin now wanted to go to the toilet. The toilet was at the back of the coach and down a small flight of stairs. From previous experience of travelling on these coaches I knew there wasn't enough room in there to swing a cat.

  Alvin wanted assistance. Tasha would have to give it. We could hear the kerfuffle going on. Barry and his schedule weren't going to make it easy for them and the mind boggled with what was going on back there. A few minutes later they both emerged, Tasha looking like she was ready to throttle Alvin, and Alvin with the front of his trousers dripping wet. He must have really struggled to hit the target. They sat back down; Alvin was a little quieter from then on.

  In years gone by, the coaches used to have videos playing and a hostess that would serve drinks and sandwiches. Those little extras had long since disappeared. It was probably a cost-cutting exercise. The world was now run by accountants.

  We carried on bouncing our way to London, videoless and unrefreshed, Enid reading Harold Robbins while I nodded off from time to time. Eventually we rolled into London Victoria. I looked at my watch; 3.38 p.m. Barry was The Man and although Alvin would probably disagree, having had to sit in a wet and smelly pair of trousers during the last part of the journey, for the rest of us, Bazza’s driving was spot on.

  By the time I’d said goodbye to Enid and disembarked, Barry had already unloaded most of the luggage from the lower side lockers. I grabbed one of my bags. I was about to pick up the second when a hand reached from behind me.

  ‘I'll have that.’ It was Peachy. ‘How was the journey then, Will?’

  ‘Not bad, apart from a spoilt brat across the aisle from me.’

  Just as the words crossed my lips, Tasha stepped past me and took a holdall from Barry. She turned around, gave me a snotty look. I thought It's no good looking at me like that; you bred him love! I hadn't realised she was nearby w
hen I’d said it, but that still didn't alter the fact he was spoilt.

  She walked away with Alvin in tow and was soon out of earshot, Peachy said, ‘Let me guess – mother and brat?’

  ‘Peach, you are definitely a man with his finger on the pulse.’

  With a nod of affirmation, Peachy acknowledged my evaluation regarding his skills de la perception.

  ‘And now?’ I was curious to know what was next on the itinerary.

  ‘Well, we could stay here, have a sherbet or two and then make our way up to the gaff, or we could go now and have a drink when we're a bit closer to home. This time of day it's starting to get busy, so we're probably better off getting a move on, rather than hanging about, but as you’re the guest it’s your choice?’

  ‘I’m a stranger in a strange land.’ I shrugged my shoulders and opened my palms.

  ‘It’s tube or bus. If we go by bus, the view's better, but it'll take longer.’

  ‘I leave it to you Peach.’

  ‘Tube it is then.’

  We travelled on the Circle line up to Paddington and changed on to the Bakerloo line. One stop later and Trev gave the order, ‘Shift, we're getting off.’

  I obeyed Trev’s command. We were at Warwick Avenue tube station. A short walk later and he revealed all.

  ‘This is where I live.’ We were in Little Venice. The houses were elegant and there were boats everywhere.

  ‘Where exactly, Peach?’

  ‘On there.’ Peachy pointed.

  ***

  Give The Devil His Due was Peachy’s narrowboat and his home. If I had to guess, she must have been nearly sixty feet long.

  Resting on the roof were plants, some of which I recognised; parsley, bay, chives – Peachy's herb garden. Next to it, a reasonable quantity of chopped wood with a tarp draped over.

  The stern had quite a large deck area, it could comfortably accommodate a good size table and chairs if ‘one’ fancied a meal al fresco, though at that moment the space was being used for a different purpose. It was home to Peachy's motorbike. There was a heavy-duty hoisting arm bolted on to the deck. The device could swing Peachy’s wheels out on to the towpath, should he feel the need to travel by road anywhere.

  The boat was painted a deep royal blue with gold coachlines. I looked at her and wondered what she was like below deck. Trev led the way.

  ‘Watch your step Will.’

  I climbed on at the bow end. We went through a pair of little doors that opened outwards. I stepped inside and immediately noticed that everywhere was fitted out in beautiful wood. The ceiling and sides were tongue and groove; the floor, wooden floorboards.

  ‘What is all that?’ I asked.

  ‘The wood?’

  I nodded.

  ‘American oak.’

  To my right was a little stove. Peachy invited me to explore. ‘Take a look around Will.’

  I walked through the boat leaving the saloon and came to the galley. It was much nicer than my kitchen. Trev had what looked like an Aga and a Belfast sink. I was shocked. I went through the first cabin which again had the wood-thing going on. Little portholes provided natural light, gleaming brass fittings adorned every door and drawer.

  I carried on into the walkthrough bathroom, from which the occupant could lock the door to either adjoining cabin. Very clever I thought; and then into the next cabin. This was obviously the Master stateroom. Who said people were roughing it on boats!

  ‘How did you discover this lifestyle then, Peach?’

  ‘It's a long story, but to cut it short: when I was working at the BBC I had to research for a documentary on Little Venice and live-aboards. We went on a number of the boats and I fell in love. That was it, I decided to take the plunge and move from dry land to a life on the ocean wave!’ You had to take your hat off to him. He'd got a house-and-a-half here. The clock had been ticking; it was now past five.

  ‘Yours is the cabin next to the galley, Will.’ I’d guessed correctly. ‘Stow your kit then we'll go ashore and get some grog down you.’ Was I going to be in for nauticalisms all night, I asked myself, or would Peachy knock it on the head after the first swig of rum?

  I decided to join in. With my best Roger-the-cabin-boy voice I replied, ‘Aye, aye cap'n.’

  ***

  By the time we got back on board it was dark. The boat didn't look half as inviting as when I'd first viewed her in the afternoon. I sat down. Peachy opened the little stove and lit the fire. Within seconds the interior of the boat was transformed by a warm glow. It looked amazing. The aroma of the wood burning and the crackle from behind the glass just added the finishing touch to the atmosphere. Trev turned the galley lights on and handed me a bottle of Rioja.

  ‘Crack that open Will. Corkscrew's in the drawer over there.’ I duly obliged. Peachy was busying himself with some sort of casserole dish in the fridge. ‘Here's one I prepared earlier. This morning as a matter of fact.’

  ‘What is the delicacy of which I am about to partake?’ I asked.

  ‘Coq au Vin.’ He took the dish and put it in the oven. I sat down again in one of the easy chairs. As Peach laid the table, I poured the wine. He then walked over and joined me.

  ‘Should be just right in about forty-five minutes.’

  ‘Here, this one's yours.’ I passed him a wine glass. ‘This is very nice stuff, Peach. Where did you get it, if you don't mind me asking?'

  ‘No I don't mind. A colleague of mine goes to Spain three or four times a year and brings home a car load, so I usually strong-arm him for an order.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, Senior Archivist has its perks, one of them being I'm in charge of the work and holiday rotas so he knows better than to refuse.’

  ‘A bit like Don Corleone then?’

  ‘Sort of, but I haven't resorted to putting a horse head in his bed just yet.’

  ‘He's got race horses, this colleague, has he?’

  ‘No, but he's got a cat!’

  I had visions of Peachy trying to lure some librarian's poor, unsuspecting cat with a saucer of milk in one hand, meat cleaver in the other (hidden behind his back) ready to lop the bloody thing’s head off as soon as it bent down to drink.

  By the time we'd chatted for a few minutes, the smells of dinner were filling the boat, I was beginning to salivate. This man could obviously cook. I sipped the fine wine and felt totally relaxed. We were set up. A very enjoyable and civilised evening ahead of us.

  ‘Peach, what happens when the electricity runs out?’

  ‘It doesn't. I've got a little generator at the stern, if I need to charge the main batteries off the engine, I can – even in the middle of the night.’

  ‘What about noise?’

  ‘There's hardly any at all. The boat's got a hospital silencer fitted. It's whisper quiet.’

  ‘And gas?’

  ‘There’re two big bottles in the bow and they last ages, so don't worry.’

  I wasn't worried, just curious. This boat totally amazed me.

  ‘Forget the barge for a minute, Will. There's a problem we need to talk about.’

  Oh dear, this sounded ominous. I could tell by the sound of Peachy's voice it was not something trivial.

  ‘What's that then?’

  ‘It's Neil. He's homeless.’

  I was speechless.

  Chapter 6

  Friday 7.30 p.m. London

  When I met Neil at the reunion, something hadn't seemed quite right, but to think of our old friend sleeping rough and living on charity was more than depressing.

  ‘Are you sure Peach?’

  ‘Pretty much. I saw him the day before you first rang me at the office. I know I said nothing was wrong, but it wasn't something I wanted to discuss over the phone.’

  I could understand that. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I was visiting one of our repositories in the East End. I came out of a tube station, and there he was.’

  ‘What, on a bench?’

  ‘No, he was sellin
g The Big Issue. I'm almost positive he clocked me, even though I was quite a distance away, because he turned and made tracks at speed. In no time at all he’d disappeared. Even if I’d got to him before he hurried off, I’d have had no idea what I was going to say.’

  I was shell-shocked, and losing my appetite. The thought of Neil under a bridge somewhere leading a miserable existence was getting me down.

  ‘You're closer to him than either Phil or me, Peach. Why didn’t he tell you?’

  ‘Neil is a very proud man. For him to admit that he'd been to prison in front of everyone at the reunion must have been a huge ordeal. When I heard him say it, I was surprised. Maybe he was gauging our reactions, and decided by the look on our faces not to tell us about the homeless thing.’

  It all seemed to make sense now; the not-wanting-to-travel-together. I bet he was hitching, because he didn't have any money for the train fare.

  ‘Do you know where he is now?’

  ‘I haven't got a clue. I tried ringing his mum, but there was no reply. Maybe she's away. But by the manner in which he scuttled off when he saw me, he obviously feels ashamed of his situation.’

  Peachy was probably right.

  ‘I got to thinking afterwards. Even if I do contact her and she asks him to get in touch, he's probably not going to. I'm too close to him. I reckon he feels more embarrassed at the thought of me knowing than anyone else.’

  Maybe there was another solution. ‘What if I try and reach him?’

  Peach smiled. ‘I was hoping you'd say that.’

  Suddenly something occurred to me. ‘When did his drink-driving conviction and the prison thing take place?’

  ‘I can't remember exactly. I got so shit-faced the night we got back together a lot of what we talked about became a blur; why do you need to know?’